


Fika

by MrNinjaPineapple



Series: Metanoia [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic, Healing, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrNinjaPineapple/pseuds/MrNinjaPineapple
Summary: Fika - A moment to slow down and appreciate the good things in life.
Relationships: Julia Rickson/Marcus, Original Male Character/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Metanoia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1362259
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Fika

“…And then he said ‘that’s not a mirelurk, that’s my wife!’”

Marcus and Julia burst into laughter and she can’t remember the last time she laughed. Or, more precisely, she can and just doesn’t want to.

Marcus seems to notice the change in her expression and gives a tight smile, taking the opportunity to take their plates over to the sink and begin washing up as Julia watches.

She had followed the glorious smell to the kitchen, where a fresh-and-showered Marcus was preparing two large platefuls of breakfast. She had seen the look in his eyes as he turned to her, a flash of guilt soon buried beneath a cheeky grin.

_Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar._

Julia smiles at the thought as she sips the rest of her coffee. It’s bitter and strong but it does the job. She silently gives thanks that coffee survived the apocalypse, swirling the remaining dregs before gulping them down.

Taking the mug, she walks over to the sink and places it in, her hand accidentally brushing against his. They lock eyes for a brief moment and she feels something in her gut twist.

As soon as it arrives, the moment is over and she walks over to the couch.

She has never felt that before. Well, not for Marcus anyway.

Her mind drifts to the fact that if it were anyone else who had arrived unannounced, shared a passionate kiss, spent the night, showered in the morning, made breakfast for two, and proceeded to wash up, she would feel distant, like a stranger in her own home.

This is different. It feels nice to wake up and have someone there. Someone to talk to, to laugh with.

“Do you have a workbench around?”

The question breaks her from her reverie and she has to think for a moment before answering.

“Not here, no. Sturges has one across the street though.”

Marcus’ brow furrows as he dries his hands.

“Sturges? Overalls, cool hair, talks like a cowboy?” he asks. He raises his hand to just above his shoulder. “About yea high?”

“That’s him,” Julia nods.

“Good, I hope he doesn’t mind me using it to fix up Reason. All I have with me is my cleaning kit.”

With that, Marcus marches off down the hallway and into the end room, emerging with Reason in hand. At the doorway, he dons his trademark duster and Julia can see the damage still clearly visible from the previous night’s journey. Slinging Reason over his shoulder, he heads for the doorway.

“I can patch that up if you’d like?”

Marcus turns and cocks an eyebrow.

“The coat, I mean,” Julia clarifies. “I can repair the damage while you fix Reason. Or at the very least, poke the weave back in and sew up the rest?”

Marcus flashes a smile and places Reason against the doorframe. He takes off his jacket and holds it out to her.

Julia can see his corded muscles stretch and tense beneath his shirt as he moves.

She takes the jacket and waits for him to leave before getting to work. Placing it on the table, she scrounges up a needle, two spools of black thread, and some similar scraps of tanned leather and begins fixing the damaged areas.

With each pull of the thread, the weight of recent days seems to fall away and she soon finds herself lost in her work. Falling into a rhythm, she counts each stitch and moves with consummate ease across the worn material.

Deacon.

Rook.

Marcus.

Everything melts away as the cloth comes together again. The frayed fabric is cut away and fresh seams are created. As she finishes, Julia inspects the jacket and is silently proud of her handiwork, turning the duster over to find her patches – a shade lighter than the original – restoring the garment near-perfectly.

Making it whole once again, even if it isn’t perfect.

“Now _that_ is some nice work.”

Julia almost jumps off her seat as she spins to find Marcus staring at the jacket from over her shoulder.

_Damn, I didn’t even hear him come in. I let my guard down. Deacon would be-_

Just like that, the illusion breaks and reality crashes down on her once more. She is almost surprised at how easily Deacon slips back into her mind.

Almost.

She turns her attention back to Marcus and realises that the room is darker than she thought – the kitchen now fully cast in shadow – and she silently curses herself for losing track of the time.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” she says, waving away his concern and painting on the smile that comes so easily to her now. “Just lost track of time, I guess. You like it, then?”

A smile creeps across Marcus’ face as he reaches past her and runs a hand over the repaired duster. As he leans over, Julia can feel his warmth against her, radiating in waves from his body. The faint smell of gasoline, rifle grease, and a hard day’s work reach her, leaving only the barest trace lingering as he moves away.

“Looks amazing,” he says, throwing it over himself and stretching his arms to test the fix. “I reckon you could give Tinker Tom a run for his money.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. You know how he gets,” she replies. “Where’s Reason?”

“The damage wasn’t as bad as I thought so Sturges said he’d have it ready in a day… but I did bring those.”

He points to a case of Nuka-Cola on the countertop and flashes his silly grin, heading over to grab two bottles and begin the evening properly.

As a night chill descends outside, heralded by a low fog pooling across the road, Marcus and Julia swap stories about various Railroad operations, each tale growing more outlandish than the last. The case of Nuka-Cola finishes and stronger drinks take its place.

The stories move from escorting runaway synths whilst running from Institute killsquads to roaming the Commonwealth on recon missions to organising dead drops and communication between safehouses.

“You ever wonder how different your life could’ve been?” Marcus asks, absentmindedly finishing the remnants of whisky in his glass. “If you still would’ve been in the Railroad? Going on crazy adventures? Sitting here with such an amazing heavy, swapping stories of legendary heroism?”

He flashes his grin again and waits for the eye roll that doesn’t come.

“I try not to,” she answers, shifting uncomfortably. “I guess I buried myself in the Railroad, always kept myself busy. Always doing something. Training, going on missions, helping where I could.”

Marcus watches keenly, his eyes only leaving her for a moment to glance over at the table where the thread and materials still sit from earlier in the day.

“It’s okay to take some time for yourself, you know. Unwind and-“

“I know,” she says, a little too abruptly. She doesn’t know why her guard suddenly raises but it does, a barrier between her mind and the outside world. An almost physical thing between her and Marcus.

He eases back into his seat, not pulling away but withdrawing slightly nonetheless.

“All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to just slow down for a while. You don’t have to be doing _something_ ,” he replies, his voice and expression softening. “Enjoy the sun. Read a book. Sit and stare into space. Don’t be afraid of the quiet moments.”

But she was. She is.

Those are the moments where unbidden thoughts creep into her mind.

Memories of a life no longer hers seem to taunt her from the shadows, ephemeral jesters whose cruel barbs leave lasting scars.

Keeping busy kept them away. At first, she only gained a minor reprieve but as time moved on, the thoughts became more and more distant.

It was always a temporary fix. She knows that.

Drywall over a gaping hole.

The sheer weight of memories hang delicately above her, waiting for a moment to slip back in.

The memories of a life in Sanctuary Hills.

The feeling of guilt over an illicit affair.

The pain of having it all torn away.

And now she has to push down her time in the Railroad, too. Her time with…

_And there he is again._

She massages her temples and shuts it all out, if only for a moment.

“Okay, you’re right,” she manages, the words meek and lifeless.

For his part, Marcus nods and leans over, places a gentle hand on her shoulder. She tenses involuntarily and he moves away instantly.

Her defensiveness surprises even her.

Marcus drains his final glass and says good night, making his way to the bathroom to freshen up.

Julia follows his cues and repeats the words, her mind pulled in a million directions at once. Once he is gone, she finishes her drink and then pours herself another. Finishes it.

She grabs the bottle and does her best to push down her thoughts as she makes her way across the hallway and into her room, the memories following patiently.


End file.
